He's Gonna Say
by wtchcool
Summary: There's a reason Jamie Fleming doesn't know where her mom is and it's Peter's fault. Not exactly a song fic. Dedicated to Orwell is watching.


"He's Gonna Say"

By Wtchcool

Dedicated to Orwell is watching-xoxo. Happy Birthday, Orwell!

Disclaimer: I do not own "The Cape," or Train's "Fifty Ways to Say Goodbye."

Another Saturday night saw Vince drinking with his partner back at the hideout. (They were drinking beer, of course. Vince was steering clear of Max's snakeskin drink, thank you.) Once again it occurred to the vigilante that he had been doing most of the talking, while Orwell was as tight-lipped as ever about herself, her past, her name… He'd built up just enough of a buzz to take another stab at getting the blogger to reveal some of her secrets.

"Why do you never talk about your parents?" Vince asked.

"Vince, you know I don't like to talk about my father."

"What about your mother, then? Tell me about her."

"There's not much to say. I told you, I barely remember her."

"What happened?"

"I don't know," Jamie replied. "I honestly don't," she continued, when her partner looked at her skeptically.

"You must've asked your father about her," Faraday insisted.

"I did—a number of times over the years."

"And what did he say?"

"He changed his story every time I asked."

"You're kidding."

"Nope; let's see, he said she went down in an airplane…"

"Oh, Orwell," Vince's face was full of sympathy.

"Thing about that is, I was never able to find records of a plane crash around the time she disappeared," Jamie explained. "Still, it was a better excuse than telling me my mother 'fried getting suntan.'"

"Are you serious?"

She nodded.

"I was four years old and sadly, didn't think to question it. I spent several years terrified of getting sunburned."

Her friend winced. Then he wondered when she stopped being afraid of the sun. She still seemed rather pale.

"Finally, Dad decided I was spending too much time cooped up indoors and told me that she fell in a cement mixer full of quicksand. Unfortunately, that led to me accusing him of being involved with the mafia." She took another swig of beer and wondered just how far that conclusion had been from the truth.

"Was he?" Vince asked after a beat.

"No," she scowled. "So then he changed stories again, and claimed she met a shark underwater."

"Let me guess, you refused to go swimming afterwards."

"You've got it. Wouldn't go near the beach until he said he just remembered that she fell and no one caught her. Think he meant she went down a flight of stairs or maybe out a window, I don't know, it's been awhile… Never found any headlines about anything like that happening, though."

"Please don't tell me…"

"That I developed a fear of heights? It was a brief phase; along with ballet I learned some gymnastics and aerialist tricks and got over it."

"So you don't know how she died?"

"I wouldn't know which of the excuses to believe—that she was caught in a mudslide? I suppose that could have happened," she said, doubtfully. "It's certainly more plausible than saying 'mum got eaten by a lion.'"

"He didn't tell you that?"

"Oh, he did. Of course, after I hit puberty he decided I would sooner accept that she'd died in a car accident; he said something about getting run over by a crappy purple Scion, never mind that that car didn't even exist at the time."

"I hope your dad's gotten better at lying over the years," Vince remarked.

_He has_, Fleming thought. Maybe that was why she could always tell when he was lying, though. She'd gotten plenty of practice picking up on the cues while she was growing up.

"I know, right?" she said instead. "How he could've ever expected me to buy that mom dried up in the desert, drowned in a hot tub, or danced to death at an East Side night club…" she shook her head.

"I've tried to figure out why he came up with all those ridiculous lies over the years. Obviously he's hiding something. Sometimes I thought that maybe he killed her, but now I wonder…

"What if she never died, Vince? What if the big secret was that she left us and he just couldn't accept it?"

"I'll help you find her," he slurred.

"Thanks, Vince. You're a good friend," she turned towards him, and shook her head. Her partner had fallen asleep.

THE END

**Author's Note: You may have recognized the title and causes of death from the lyrics of Train's song. (Incidentally, Train seems to be under the misapprehension that eleven equals fifty.)**

**I think this idea seemed less morbid in my head. :/ Sorry about that! But the song is catchy, and while we've been operating under the assumption that Chess was born when Mrs. Fleming died, what if she hadn't? …On second thought, scratch that. No need to overcomplicate the BIOTP 'verse.**


End file.
